


Cirque du Normandy

by bethfury



Series: Cirque du Normandy [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Circus, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethfury/pseuds/bethfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shepard couldn’t remember a day without flight."</p><p>Her first days with the Cirque du Normandy, "the greatest show in the galaxy, brave enough to tour the Terminus Systems and invited onto worlds and ships that the Council wished would give them an audience."</p><p>A circus AU set in the Mass Effect universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Shepard couldn’t remember a day without flight.  
  
Her feet had never quite connected to the ground; with first steps taken on tip toes with hands reaching for a far away ledge. The floor had felt foreign, muscles shortened and spine compressed, especially when compared to her face graced with air quickly rushing past, her hands chapped from the rough rope of the tire swing. Her mother and father could never resolve a way to keep the tiny girl from climbing into the rafters or tumbling down the hills by their home. The day her biotic barrier activated in a fall from their barn's roof, they knew their tiny settlement wouldn’t hold her much longer. A brief video taken of her sprinting and tumbling through the fields and a scholarship was delivered the next week to a training academy in Shanghai.  
  
Her aerial coach was yelling instructions at her to straighten her leg, Shepard’s body bent and tied in a glossy silk above the floor, when the headmaster had rushed in to tell her about the attack on the colony.

A kindly social worker calmly explained over the phone that there weren't bodies to claim as the last mementos of her life were shipped to her in a tiny metal crate with a survivor check from the Alliance. The singed photos and rings from her mother's fingers were tucked beneath her bed in the dormitory as the headmaster agreed to not share the news with others. Shepard tucked her knees around a trapeze bar and blinked out the visions of the bulldozers moving the rubble and wreckage she had called home.   
  
Her graduation passes with empty seats and a job offer to coach at the school is offered as a perfunctory gesture as the letters for auditions come in. "You have a place here Jane," her coach whispers in her ear, "But you won't need it."  She tweaks a leg behind her head as an offer for a residency on Thessia comes in. Shepard spirals above a training mat when a recruiter tries to convince her to stay in an Earth exclusive troupe and use her talents to entertain the humans that needed joy.  
  
The invitation she had wished for arrives with a ticket to Vancouver to audition and her dorm mates see her off from the local shuttleport, waving excitedly as Shepard reminded herself that even if Mr. Anderson and Mr. Hackett didn’t want her that someone would.

  
Her first trip anywhere had been before she could remember, her mother and father honorably separating from the Alliance and hopping a colony shuttle with their homesteader’s stipend. Shepard had spent the first trip swaddled tightly in her mother’s arms as the stars of the Attican Traverse flew by.  
  
Her second trip had been back to Earth, this time spending the trip clutching her tiny stuffed rabbit and looking at pictures of Mindoir on the extranet. Shanghai had been so massive and she had felt so small, but her coach asked her on the first day if she wanted to fly and helped Shepard onto the lyra for the first time.  
  
The hoop felt as familiar as her tire swing that flew over the stream that ran through their fields, and home didn’t feel far away when her feet left the mat.  
  
This was her third trip on a ship and she still clutched her stuffed bunny, looking through pictures of Mindoir and Shanghai and praying that her rig arrived in one piece. But Vancouver and the large black and red striped tent came into view and her mind turned to a memory.  
  
“You are a Shepard, we are resilient and unwavering,” her mother’s voice repeated in her head, “If you want something, it is yours because you will make it yours.”  
  
It continued repeating as she gathered her belongings and deboarded into the crowded terminal. The voice was the soundtrack to the image of her routine she practiced continually in the back of her mind; flipping and guiding her form through the music.  
  
But a tinny voice broke the concentration from behind her, “Jane Shepard?”  
  
She flipped around to see the small Volus gripping a sign with her name scrawled across.  
  
“Are you Jane Shepard?” he asked again, “I was told to look for a redheaded woman with a lot of baggage.”  
  
“Yes, that’s me,” she looked around at the baggage quickly piling around her, “Are you with the circus?”  
  
The Volus nodded, “Barla Von, I am the booker and procurement specialist for the troupe. I also help negotiate visits on the Citadel when they aren’t happy to give us visas.”  
  
“Very nice to meet you,” Jane smiled, “I’m sure we can carry everything in a few trips.”  
  
“Nonsense girl!” the Volus scoffed, waving over a pair of large Krogans who proceeded to gather things, “I don’t carry cargo.”


	2. Chapter 2

Shepard had imagined every minute of this audition. From how the mat would feel beneath her feet and the noise of the wires singing beneath her weight, she had mapped out the ring and her goals and what the next years would bring her.  
  
The Cirque du Normandy was brave enough to tour the Terminus Systems and received invitations onto worlds and ships that the Council wished would give them an audience.    
  
Jane had timed her tricks and perfected her music and had signed the contract in her head every night for years.  
  
She had watched the videos on terminals in the school's library with a troupe of dancing varren, an Asari contortionist, and a Turian daredevil who threw knives at his Quarian wife who taunted him with jokes while they flew by her mask. She had heard the stories of their ringmaster in a jester’s suit who sat to the side of the stage talking to the audience as the performances continued (except when it was his wife, all metal and sharp angles as she glided across the tightrope), and of the geth clown who would make the children giggle.  
  
Shepard had scrimped and saved from her monthly stipend from the Alliance, survivor benefits for the daughter of two veterans, for the perfect navy blue sequined bodice and peacock feathered bustle costume.  
  
But her favorite in the circus had always been the raven-haired hand balancer, his biotics flaring around him as he gripped his canes and contorted his form. His vids had hit the extranet in her first year in Shanghai and her goal had changed from featured performer in an Illium review to under the tent where that man performed.  
  
The Volus had brought her from the shuttleport to their famous tent, constructed on the shore for a series of shows. "You can get ready while our team sets up your rig," his tinny voice tiredly dismissed her, pointing at a dressing room to the side. She swore he was still complaining to himself about being forced to be an errand boy as she started to walk away.    
  
She had always loved the process of preparing. Painting on the dark red lipstick, twining her hair in a tight bun, and tying her matching gaiters tightly. Humming her music, she slowly went through her stretches, feeling her calves elongate straight through her toes. She picked at a fruit plate that had been left for her, and nervously swung her arms to awaken her body for the performance.  
  
Before leaving Shanghai, the other students had begged her to write and tell them about the audition process. The majority of circuses depended now on vids and reviews coming over the extranet but Cirque du Normandy still brought people in person, give them one day under their legendary tent to prove they belonged.  
  
The old competitions and titles she had won didn’t matter anymore. The people whose feet arched better than Shepard’s ever could or the schoolmates who left for the holidays and returned with sparkling new equipment didn’t either. None of those people or memories mattered when she stepped into the ring and remembered what the lyra felt like against her hips that first day of flying.  
  
“Jane!” a man called her name, striding up to her with his hand extended with another man closely behind him.  
  
She quickly recognized them as Mr. David Anderson and Mr. Steven Hackett, the co-owners of the circus and former performers themselves. The school still watched vids of their acrobatic routine, concluding with an Icarian Games performance that was still unmatched. While Mr. Hackett’s hair had grown gray and Mr. Anderson had given up gym clothes for more formal suits, they both still had the gait and posture of performers. Both men would’ve blended in on any space station or in any major city, but Shepard could tell they had never left the circus behind from the bright violet socks that poked out from Mr. Hackett’s pants or the chalk stains on the legs of Mr. Anderson’s suit.  
  
“Yes sir,” she said with the promptness of a child raised by two military members, “Very nice to meet you both.”  
  
She went to shake his hand before holding back slightly, “I’m sorry sir, I just chalked up.”  
  
Hackett chuckled with a warm voice, “You never need to apologize to a fellow circus performer for not getting rosin all over them.”  
  
They all laughed and Shepard felt immediately at ease in front of the two men. Their own personal ease with each other was obvious and she felt a foreign ache in chest with the want of her own troupe.  
  
“So Jane, how long have you been an aerialist?” Anderson asked, taking a seat in the bleachers.  
  
“According to my mother, my first steps were taken exclusively to grab the back of the couch to dangle,” she answered with a smile, “But I’ve been with the Shanghai school since I was 11, trained in the silks, static trapeze, and the lyra.”  
  
“But how did you settle on the hoop?” Hackett questioned.  
  
“I had a tire swing growing up,” her face brightened with the memory, “You never forget your first time flying.”  
  
Hackett sat beside Anderson and motioned towards the center of the ring, “Then show us what it is like to fly.”  
  
Shepard took a position on the floor in the center of the ring and motioned for her music, before bending at the waist, arms delicately extended above her head.  
  
A mournful piano softly began to build as she rose up, arching her back and stretching towards the hoop. Her fingers just grasped the edge, and she pushed herself slightly to begin a delicate spin, legs bent beneath her. Her arms bent slightly as she raised herself, raising her legs in a pike in front of her as the hoop was pulled slightly closer to the top of the tent.  
  
The piano began to grow, a sombre and delicate piece, as she pulled her knees over the bar and spun positioning herself framed in the hoop. Her teacher had yelled for that leg to be straight, and Shepard released her hands to let it support her as the spin continued.  
  
But the tempo quickly changed, and Shepard tucked to flip herself off of the hoop and continue the dance beside it. Her hands gripped the edges and she ran quickly, before releasing and letting her body soar on the apparatus, the entirety of the ring covered by her quickly growing arcs.  
  
The hoop raised again, and the ground soared past her with her legs in an exaggerated split around the lyra and she can’t see Mr. Anderson’s face, but Shepard knows the job is hers before her music hits its crescendo and her rig is pulled even higher towards the ceiling of the red and black striped tent.  
  
The momentum is easy for her to maintain and Shepard lets her hands go as she releases the pin on her hair, letting the red ringlets build in a torrent around her. She catches a momentary glimpse of her judge’s face grinning as her biotics sparked, leaving trails of blue in her path.  
  
As the music slows once more, she stands on the lyra and slows the spin. The drop always came with an audible gasp as she stood and swan dived towards the floor. Her biotics caught her as always, the feathers on her costume not even rustling as her first foot in the ground.  
  
But with the dying of her music, she took her starting position once again. First, arms outreached towards the hoop now far from her grasp, and finally bent at the waist, arms extended and face held in prostration.  
  
The applause started immediately from the audience, Hackett and Anderson now joined by a smaller bearded man and a statuesque woman hiding in a back row who whistled a shrill cheer.  
  
Hackett finally broke his slow applause, “Well, Jane,how would you like a job?”  
  
“It is for my juggling, right?” she asked with a grin, suppressing the exhaustion she felt in each limb, “Or maybe you need someone to clean the varren crates?”  
  
Anderson met her questions with a smile, “I’m sure we can find something right for you.”  
  
“By the way,” she moved forward, wiping the rosin off her hands before going to shake his, “I go by Shepard.”  
  
“The Lady Shepard,” Hackett repeated, shaking her hand, “I love that.”


	3. Chapter 3

The circus had been named after the ship, a decommissioned Alliance vehicle Anderson had picked up for a bargain at auction. It reminded her of a Turian/Volus envoy that had arrived in the colony to sell arms, the angles and shape foreign from those carrying the pilgrims and peasants that arrived with the coming of the spring each year.

Shepard hadn't realized when she left Shanghai that she wouldn't ever walk in that familiar gym again with the things she would miss like the slightly medicinal smell of the disinfectant on the mats or the first aid kit full of braces and medgel. But from the first seconds on the ship, she didn't feel as homesick as she had worried, catching glimpses of warmth and life in each corner of the Normandy; from the ringmaster’s laughter from the pilot’s chair to the crew gathered around tables deep in a card game.

Hackett had arranged for her dorm's content to be shipped before the contract had even been finalized, and Shepard had once again been surprised by how leotards seemed to reproduce on their own as they strained in her new locker. It all took the shape of her dreams about what life would be like, with the circus’ grand tent disassembled and an itinerary already on her terminal by the time she arrives in her new room. She smiled at a bouquet of fresh peonies blooming in a vase on the desk beside a quickly scribbled card welcoming her as the metal trunk from Mindoir was slid underneath her new bunk and her tiny rabbit doll was hidden beneath her pillow. Shepard takes a breath and has a home again, with the first congratulations message arriving from her former classmates in slow pings of her mailbox to her new terminal address.   
  
The joy and passed quickly as an alert went off warning her that she was about to be late for her first scheduled training session in the training room.  
  
What appeared to originally be the cargo hold for the ship had been fashioned into a training room with trapeze and lyra hanging from the ceiling and exercise equipment in a small corner of the room. Anderson greeted her with a wave from one of the weight machines before walking over.  
  
“We have a rig available here for your training so you can use your set for shows,” he explained, motioning to the hoop, “And you’ll have at least a dedicated hour of training time each day while in transit, although a lot of the other performers share their time to optimize their schedule.”  
  
She looked around the empty room, “But since I’m new-.”  
  
“They wanted to give you some space,” he finished the thought, “Some people hate being watched at first.”  
  
Shepard looked around the open space , before taking a place in the middle of the mat to warm up, “I don’t know if I’ve ever even had a gym completely to myself.”  
  
“Trust me Shepard, give it a day and you will have a line of people convincing you to teach them the latest tricks from Shanghai,” he smiled and she felt herself relax slightly from his obvious attempt to make her feel at ease.  
  
She stretched her legs in front of her, pointing her toes and bending at the waist, “Good, I like an audience.”  
  
“We have a set of shows on the Citadel next week which will be your first performance with us,” Anderson explained, “So you’ll want to work with the crew on your musical and lighting cues. You’ll go on after the juggling act and before the trapeze act closes the show.”  
  
“Who do I work with for logistics?” she eases herself into a split, “And training?”  
  
“Dr. Chakwas serves as a the troupe trainer and can also work with you on any PT you might need,” he explained further, “Barla Von can help with procurement and Gardner is our chef if you have any dietary needs. The lighting and music cues can be worked out with Tali’Zorah.”  
  
“Isn’t that Garrus Vakarian’s wife?” she asked, moving onto her back and pulling her legs towards her.  
  
Anderson moved to support her leg and help stretch it further, “That’s how they met actually, she was learning tech on her pilgrimage and ran away with the circus.”  
  
Shepard sat back up, pulling an arm behind her, “Is there anything else I need to keep in mind right now?”  
  
“We have a troupe meeting during breakfast every day, no excuses, and if you need anything, please let me know. Also, family get tickets for free on any stop so just let me know and I will put them aside,” he smiled, offering her a hand to help her rise.  
  
She nodded slightly before accepting it to stand up, “Thank you again Mr. Anderson, I appreciate it.”  
  
“Call me David,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, “And I mean it, anything you need. But let me leave you to it for now, I go crazy without a day in the gym.”  
  
He left the room with that, and Shepard approached the hoop with a happy familiarity. Her first days in Shanghai had been filled with rope climbing and tumbling across trampolines, they had surrounded her with enough activity that a week had passed before she remembered to call her parents.  
  
“I’m so glad you are having a great time,” her mom’s voice had embraced her through the terminal, “I always knew you were talented.”  
  
Shepard had never felt more herself than when she was dangling from a bar above the ground, or twisted in a rope, forming an impossible shape with her body. The practice time goes quickly and her mind quiets, the sensation and muscle memory lulling her into the acceptance of her new world.  
  
But when her hour is up and her feet are back on the ground, the introductions begin rapid fire.  
  
The Krogan juggling act invite her for drinks that night and convince her to stand while sharpened machetes flew past her face. She cheers until Wrex reveals this was their first time testing the trick.  
  
“But you did a great job and no limbs lost!” he announced as the color left Shepard’s face.  
  
The contortionist invites her to join her for morning stretching and Shepard finds Liara’s serious face on stage in contrast to the giggles over the handsome Drell who performs a martial arts inspired act with his son.  
  
“His wife passed away before he joined,” she explained in hush tones, “Raises his son on his own.”  
  
“You should ask him to dinner,” Shepard responded with a smile.  
  
Liara shook her head shyly, “Can you even imagine if we broke up? This is very close quarters.”  
  
Shepard attempted to nod with the authority of a woman who understood instead of the perfect pupil who had turned down any offer of a date to practice instead.  
  
The trapeze troupe convinces her to join them at practice to help them with some trick ideas and Shepard finds herself perched above their catcher learning the secret of each performer.  
  
“The varren act is Kelly’s,” James explained, hanging upside down underneath Shepard’s perch, “And Jacob and Miranda used to do a fire spinning and breathing act for the Hades Circus on Earth before Hackett convinced them to join us.”    
  
“They haven’t been particularly welcoming,” Shepard frowned, dangling her feet.  
  
James scoffed, pulling himself up to sit on the bar, “Miranda is just bitter that you took her normal slot in the show but having an aerial act makes the most sense.”  
  
“I also turned down an audition with Hades,” she admitted in a low voice.  
  
James scoffed again, “I can’t see you with Hades, you are too normal.”  
  
“Hey James, do you want to get in position so we can show Shepard and not waste all of our practice time gossiping?” Steve yelled from the other perch.  
  
“Or at least wait to gossip until afterwards so I can join in,” Sam yelled from beside him, fingers wrapped around the trapeze bar.  
  
James gave Shepard a smile, before dangling back down, “Ready!”  
  
Sam quickly left the platform, twisting up to rest her legs on the bar till she was dangling with her arms free. James reached out and grabbed her quickly, swinging her back before she released again, flipping through the air and connecting back with the bar.  
  
Shepard cheered as Sam arrived back on the other platform with a flourish. Steve moved to give Sam a hug as James pumped his fist.  
  
He righted himself on the bar to catch Shepard’s gaze rest on entrance to the training room and the hand balancer watching the practice.  
  
She had shared dinner with Garrus and Tali and she had showed Liara the vid of her first performance. Shepard had joined James, Steve, and Sam for countless practices and learned a set of new moves from Thane.  
  
But Kaidan had eluded her, ending his training sessions with enough time for her to miss him and taking his meals separately. She still watched his vids and hadn’t actually spoken to the man whose room was two doors down.  
  
“Shepard, you should talk to him,” James said as he realized her distraction.  
  
"I should talk to who?" she asked, breaking the stare.  
  
James chuckled, "To Mr. Dark and Moody.”  
  
“He isn't moody, he has migraines,” she defended him quickly, allowing the blush to set in her cheeks as James grinned.  
  
“I know about his migraines, the only place that has more biotics then the Alliance is the circus,” James responded, “But I am surprised you know so much about a man you haven’t talked to yet.”  
  
Shepard frowned slightly, before James moved quickly grabbing Shepard off of her perch and swinging her below him.  
  
“James!” she shrieked, narrowing and tightening her body to control the swing.  
  
“Shepard, is he trying to convince you of something?” Steve yelled from the other platform.  
  
James moved faster, tightening his grip on her hands, “Yes, and I won’t let her down until she says yes.”  
  
“Yes!” she answered, “Now put me down!”  
  
“Are you sure?” James asked, “Steve could come over and you could try a transition?”  
  
Shepard paused before straightening her form, “Okay, just one.”


	4. Chapter 4

Shepard didn’t talk to him in the mess, sitting in front of her small tray and planning multiple different ways to complain about a biotic’s metabolism. She debated all of the ways to offer him her dessert and stared intensely at her noodles before glancing up to see him leave the room.  
  
She didn’t talk to him that night, her hand hovering in front of his door before she turned quickly to run back into her room. Her door shut tightly behind her and she threw herself down on the bed with an exaggerated flop she mastered from anytime she didn’t get the top score while in school.  
  
James pointed at him the next morning, giving Shepard a stare that said the choice to introduce herself would soon not be hers to make. She grabbed her protein shake and quickly scurried off into the practice room for her morning training slot. Tickets had been sold out for weeks for their series of shows starting in a day and their final dress rehearsal would be that evening. But the familiar nerves she felt before a show were a vacation from the social anxiety that gripped her whenever she caught a glimpse of his face in the hall.  
  
She cued up her music and started through her routine as muscle memory took over. But after sticking her dismount for the thousandth time, she was greeted by loud applause from the doorway. Shepard raised her head slightly to see the hand-balancer smiling directly at her.  
  
“I’m sorry, I must have run late,” she started to apologize, moving to gather her equipment, “Let me just get cleaned up.”  
  
“No, I’m early. I wanted to spy a little and it was worth it because that was wonderful,” he said, walking over with a hand outreached, “I’m sorry we haven’t met sooner, I’m Kaidan.”  
  
“I know who you are,” she said shaking his hand, “I mean, I’m sorry we haven’t met sooner also.” In her head she debated every way she had wanted to say hello and cursed herself for choosing the option that made him feel bad about it  
  
Kaidan chuckled, “I just tend to keep to myself before a show. Mostly because I spend the time living in my head, running through the routine.”  
  
Shepard felt herself start to relax as he took a seat on the mat and started to stretch. “I actually think of anything else,” she sat across from him, “I think I would probably go crazy and decide to change something last minute if I thought too hard.”  
  
He continued to go through his warm-up, Shepard trying hard to not stare where his arms flexed or to imagine what his calloused hands would feel like against hers, lifting her into the air.  
  
“I understand that, I tend to always decide to change my music and Tali has to talk me off a ledge,” Kaidan laughed as he stood to start arranging his equipment.  
  
Shepard sighed, “Tali spent an hour yesterday trying to convince me to change mine so I wish I could relate.”  
  
“You are very classic in your approach,” Kaidan explained, “Most of the acts now use more electronic music and they import costumes from Asari worlds with bioluminescent thread or digital projections. You are probably a little boring and low-tech for Tali.”  
  
“As if you are one to talk, your routine was shown to us in school as a reclamation of the traditional circus arts,” she gave him a smile, “I just grew up in the boonies and watched a lot of very old movies while growing up so I like old fashioned sequined leotard.”  
  
“I don’t have a look beyond a man in tiny pants, sadly no sequins in my day” he said.  
  
“Yes you do have a look,” Shepard countered, “You are practically a Grecian carved statue in the ring, very austere.” She trailed off as Kaidan broke eye contact in a blush and she reminded herself why she practiced this conversation more than her routine.  
  
“Do you want to practice together one day?” he asked choosing to ignore the compliment.  
  
Shepard nodded enthusiastically, “Could you teach me some tricks?”  
  
“Didn't you come from Shanghai?” Kaidan looked confused, “You are required hand balancing as part of the curriculum.”  
  
He was right and Shepard could remember mastering basic pikes and splits, clutching her friend’s hands and wishing it was her hoop. “How did you know that?” she asked, “Did you go to Shanghai?”  
  
“No, I’m from the Vancouver school,” he explained, “But one day, I might want to settle down, teach classes, have some tiny children that invent a new apparatus, and name it after their father who inspired them to enter the circus.”  
  
Shepard gave him a sly smile, “You have thought a lot about this, did you have an offer to teach?”  
  
“Shanghai wasn't right for me, it is a beautiful school but I love this ship and its views,” he shrugged, “How did you end up here after Shanghai?”  
  
“I won first place in an extranet circus competition run by a group on Illium,” Shepard explained, “I was kind of a black horse and Anderson apparently had significant earnings on a bet as a result.”  
  
“I saw your audition,” Kaidan confessed, lifting himself off the ground into a handstand.  
  
“You did?” She asked surprised, replaying the moment and not spotting him in the stands.  
  
“You were really beautiful, I mean, it was, your routine I mean,” he stuttered, keeping his eyes focused down on the ground, “It is still getting even better.”  
  
“Thank you, the time with Liara really helps,” she felt her cheeks redden and silently thanked his narrowed concentration  
  
“I can’t imagine how much it will develop during our next set of shows,” he continued the compliment, “You are really ahead of where I was a few years ago.”  
  
She shook her head in disagreement, “I saw the video of you performing to the Expel 10 song, with your first partner Rahna. It was stunning, you were both so perfect.”  
  
His concentration broke slightly with her name, and he dismounted beside the apparatus, “Shepard, I hate to do this, but can we continue this conversation later? I need to concentrate.”  
  
She felt her smile break slightly as she nodded and started towards the door, “Sorry about that, I’ll leave you to it.”  
  
“No apologies needed,” he smiled at her and she calmed slightly, “I’ll see you at the rehearsal tonight.”


End file.
